


Fight Fire With Fire

by Unforth



Series: Writing Prompt Wednesday [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Arson, Bisexual Dean, Burns, Butt Plugs, Dean is Actually Pretty Well Adjusted, Drag Queen Dean, Drag Queens, Firefighter Dean, Homophobic Language, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Panty Kink, Same-Sex Marriage, Switch Castiel, Switch Dean, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 17:05:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5256554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unforth/pseuds/Unforth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Firefighter Dean Winchester doesn't make a secret of his alter-ego, Kansas City drag queen Roberta Plant. His immediate friends and family are cool with his dual life, but the more popular he gets, the more annoying he finds it that others somehow find these two jobs at odds. He's especially struggled with his love life, meeting men and women who are cool with "Dean" or "Roberta," but no one who is interested in <i>all</i> of Dean. Well, at least his career is taking off...</p><p>Written for #Writing Prompt Wednesday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's time for [Writing Prompt Wednesday](http://unforth-ninawaters.tumblr.com/post/133460513158/writing-prompt-wednesday-drag-aus)!! This week's theme is "Drag Queens/Drag Kings." 
> 
>  
> 
> **What is Writing Prompt Wednesday?**
> 
>  
> 
> Writing Prompt Wednesday is a feature I run on my Tumblr. Followers, readers and friends suggest themes for AUs, and I come up with a list of prompts based on the suggested them. Then, based on those prompts, anyone who wants to join in writes up a short story (or a long story, I guess) and posts it to Tumblr (or AO3, or FF.net, or wherever) and tags it Writing Prompt Wednesday!
> 
> You can read more about Writing Prompt Wednesday, and read this week's entries, at [this link](http://unforth-ninawaters.tumblr.com/post/133460513158/writing-prompt-wednesday-drag-aus). 
> 
> This week, I chose this prompt:  
>  _I am so damn tired of explaining to people that yes, I have a very manly/womanly job, that yes, I enjoy it, that yes, everyone there knows what I do, and that yes, it’s all totally cool - like, why is this impossible for everyone to believe? AU_

“So, Ms. Plant, we’ve _got_ to ask – are you _really_ a firefighter?” Ms. Rosen’s eyes lit up as she asked the question that Dean had been dreading since the interview began. It never ceased to confuse him that the things that everyone took for granted when he was a nobody working Kansas City shows had become gossip fodder at best and a shocking scandal at worse now that his star was rising.

_This is a performance as surely as if I were on a stage at a club. Smile, Dean._

“What, was there something about these curves that made you doubt?” he said in the light, high-pitched voice he used when he was in drag, running his hands suggestively over the curves highlighted by his business suits, his sculpted breasts, cinched waist and padded hips. A few members of the live studio audience catcalled appreciatively.

“The guys at the station must give you a real hard time, right? Or is your alter-ego a secret? Wait, which of you is Clark Kent and which of you is Super…man?” She beamed at her joke as if her suggestive delay was the height of wit.

“Actually, they think it’s awesome,” he said, masking his frustration with a genuine smile and a wink. “I couldn’t ask for a more supportive group of friends and colleagues.” The skeptical look she gave him grated. It was better than how she’d reacted when he’d said the same in private; she’d actually snorted as if it was inconceivable that Dean could be a masculine firefighter and a gorgeous queen without having conflict between the two. The Becky Rosen’s of the world, convinced of their own moral superiority, couldn’t believe that the quaint folks of Kansas City could accept Dean exactly as he was, just as Dean accepted himself, just as these supposedly _progressive_ people _completely failed_ to accept him while maintaining a sanctimonious air of being _oh so understanding_.

An bright screen mounted on the wall behind where Dean sat lit up and the audience cheered much louder and _much_ more appreciatively. Dean didn’t need to look to guess what was up there. No one who knew Dean now would have believed what a shy, repressed teenager he was, nor how sternly his father had loomed over his life. John Winchester had been determined to see Dean follow in his footsteps and become a firefighter. Whatever John had envisioned for his son, Dean was sure that whatever image was now projected behind him was not what John had in mind. The thought brought a fierce smile to Dean’s face and he winked knowingly to the cameras.

“Oh, well, _wow_ , that is _quite_ a…wooo!” Ms. Rosen waved a hand before her face. The flush on her cheeks seemed to support the over-dramatic gesture. “Do you _always_ wear panties, Ms. Plant?”

“You know you can call me Roberta,” he smiled. That narrowed down the list of possible photographs – it had to be _America’s Sexiest Firefighters 2013 Calendar_. He’d won a national contest to be in included among the dozen images. The shoot had been a blast. Dean posed with a hose reel, naked save for sweat, soot, and a pair of lacy emerald panties that couldn’t hide the bulge of his package. He was surprised the image was suitable for airing on national television; he repressed a laugh to think of a censorship blur over his crotch. “And no, Ms. Rosen, I don’t – sometimes I wear thongs.” The audience whooped and Ms. Rosen blushed even more brightly. Rosen was one hell of an actress; she must have seen the image a dozen times as they’d prepared for this segment, just as they’d previously reviewed the questions she would ask and his answers.

“Please, Roberta, call me Becky,” beamed the hostess. “Well, I wish _that_ was something we could show on television! But we already pushed the censors with your calendar image – and by the way, ladies, _Ms_. Plant, also known as Dean Winchester—” Dean winced. _Must_ she? Fuck, why did he keep agreeing to do gigs like this? It’s not like he tried to keep his two lives separate or any bull like that – it was one life, fully integrated, and he was damn happy about how things were going – but when he was in drag he wasn’t Dean, that was the whole fucking point. “—will be featured in the 2016 edition of _America’s Sexiest Firefighters_. That’s right, ladies – and gents – you can have Mr. Winchester waiting at home just for you. Or, if you prefer...” She trailed off and Dean could tell by the change in the ambient light around him that the image on the screen had switched. There was a moment of stunned silence, and then the audience erupted enthusiastically. “… _she_ is also featured in _Drag the Year 2016_.”

Dean glanced back. The image on display had been staged as a deliberate parody of the first, his even lacier, even more negligible panties lying flat thanks to his perfect tuck, a matching bra cupping his sculpted bust, a styled wig dropping impossibly red curls around his face, four inch heels emphasizing his shapely legs and the curve of his lower back. He’d been posed turning in a way that accentuated his narrow waist, showing off the profile of his bust, his shapely ass, his fantastic thighs, while obfuscating his unfemininely wide shoulders and hiding the unsightly scars on his upper back. He smiled and turned back to the audience, assuming an air of innocence belied by a bawdy wink and a suggestive shrug of one shoulder.

“Alright – so, we’ve got the low down on Ms. Plant _and_ Mr. Winchester…who wants to hear a song?”

Of course the audience went wild and Dean easily slipped into his usual stage persona. Strutting about the circular stage, his narrow pencil skirt constraining his movements, Dean clutched the mike and sang his heart out – not lip syncing, no, Dean preferred live performance, preferred using his own voice. This was who he was. This was his natural element. The nerves that had accompanied Ms. Rosen’s interrogation fell away. Relief flooded in, that he’d gotten through it, that he’d not lost his temper, that, true to her word, she hadn’t sprung any unexpected questions on him. The last thing he wanted to talk about was bigotry or his father or the fire or any of the shit he’d been through. He wanted to be known as a performer, he wanted to be treated professionally, to be famous for what he could _do_ , rather than because of the crap in his past that had made national news in the worst possible way. Being a victim was a shit thing to be known for, and Dean’s emotional and physical injuries didn’t define. Only Dean could define who he was, and that’s exactly what he’d spent the past 15 years doing. Now, finally, he was making national news as he _deserved_.

By the time Dean finished the first song he felt _awesome_ , high on the enthusiasm of the crowd and the glare of the lights. Becky Rosen dramatically said a tearful good bye to him; he joined in enthusiastically with a cute hug that they managed despite him having a foot on her. The audience burst out a collective “awwww” as he and Rosen mimicked kissing each other on each cheek and he retreated off stage. An aide was waiting for him, and Dean instantly switched to making magic happen, pulling a wig over the one he was already wearing and securing with rapid, confident motions, no mirror needed. Confidently flicking the buttons of his plaid suit open, Dean peeled out of his outer layer to reveal a skimpier outfit beneath. On set, Dean could hear Rosen milking the crowd, teasing them with how disappointing it was that Roberta Plant could only stay long enough to do one song, until she had them eating out of her hand and collectively begging for an encore. She’d promised him 3 minutes to transform, but it was closer to two when the music cued his return. He repressed a curse as he quickly adjusted his tuck, kicked off his shoes, stepped into a pair of even higher heels and skipped back on to the stage, waving his arms and triggering an impressive roar from the small audience that resounded in the closed studio. Anyone filming next door would fricken hate them.

Dean knew his look was perfection. His new wig was straight out of Jem and the Holograms, big and teased and bubblegum pink; his stiletto heels were the same color and made a snapping, ringing sound with every step he took. For the interview, he’d worn a semblance of professional business suit incongruously made in red tartan but beneath it he’d hidden a spangled halter top in deep purple, bedecked with pink trim and studded with Swarovski crystals that twinkled like stars in the stage lights. A skirt in matching purple fit him like a glove and clung on his padded hips, riding low enough to show his bare chest from sternum to navel and revealing the narrow band of the promised lacy thong, also pink. He looked like a million dollars, he felt like a million dollars, and he beamed with unfeigned delight as he rallied the audience and belted out his second song.

_‘Cause I’m just a girl, a little ‘ol me_

_Well don’t let me out of your sight._

_Oh, I’m just a girl – all pretty and petite –_

_So don’t let me have any rights._

_Ohhh, I’ve had it up to here!_

The audience was singing along, standing up and clapping to the beat, and their energy fed his, driving Dean even higher, adrenaline surging through his veins like liquid courage. By the last line the crowd were dancing in the narrow aisles and on the edges of the stage, Rosen waving them forward encouragingly, dancing with a cameraman. He was broadcasting live Rosen’s dedicated following who tuned in every day, men and women of all walks of life all over the country. This was his chance to define himself and represent for other drag queens and for his friends all along the LGBTQA spectrum. It was amazing that, in his 30s, he’d lived to see the nation reach the point when someone like him could be out and open on daytime talk. As he let the last note fade, the room thrummed and roared with the echo and renewed cheers, the lights went out, and he knew he’d fucking _rocked it_.

The high carried him through his exit from the stage, his retreat to his locker room, and his transformation from Roberta Plant to Dean Winchester. Off came the high heels, the skimpy outfit, the pads on his chest and waist and hips and thighs; off came the thick layers of makeup, the flamboyant wig. He treated all carefully, to be sure he didn’t damage them as he packed them into boxes and suitcases. The show had paid to have everything shipped from Kansas City to the studio in New York and would ship it all back. He’d brought some things in his luggage as well; through diligent phone calls and milking every contact he had, he’d managed to book four shows at local clubs, one each of his four evenings. He had a week off from work, and while the temptation to sight see the City was strong – it was his first time there – the temptation to perform for the New York City crowds was even greater. What amazed him most was that all were sold out. He had another interview on Monday, too, with a webshow brazenly called Queer News. Tuesday morning he went home, but now it was Friday afternoon and, aside from his shows, his weekend was free and clear. Tugging on a pair of jeans, using a hand to muss his hair until his roots stopped aching from being plastered to his head, Dean caught a reflection of his back in the mirror and grimaced. As much as he loved the way he looked, as much as he’d come to terms with things that had happened to him in the past, he couldn’t see the ragged scars across the his shoulders and upper back without it stirring memories. Determined to not let his past damage how excited he was about his present, Dean tugged a KCFD t-shirt on, rolling and shrugging his shoulders to settle into the new outfit.

_My other skin._

“Hello, Ms. Plant,” said a polite, deep voice, a hint of a question in the tone. Dean turned to see the speaker, a tall, slim, broad-shouldered man, his tousled brown hair a tempting mess, a sparkle in his blue eyes.

“Please – when I’m in civvies, it’s just Dean,” Dean replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. The man smiled, and Dean smiled back. Judging by his clothes, he worked on set, he had on dark slacks, a loosely tucked in button up shirt, and a badge pinned to his breast pocket.

“Alright, Dean,” he said. “Do you need any help packing your belongings?”

“Nope, I’m all set.”

“Also, I was wondering if you really wear panties all the time,” deadpanned the man. Dean scowled, angry words coming to his lips, but the man continued before Dean could answer. “How do you deal with the chafing problems?”

“...excuse me?” The question refused to process as Dean stammered out his gruff reply.

“I’ve been surprised by how coarse the lace is,” the man explained. “It irritates my skin, especially if I wear jeans over them. I was hoping you’d have some advice on how to solve the problem.”

A vision of the attractive man wearing nothing but a dainty pair of underwear struck Dean. After so long in the business, he was pretty damn good at imagining how a sexy guy would looked wearing very little – too much time in tiny changing rooms surrounded by frantic queens trying to get into costume quickly. Baggy clothes must hide a flat chest, a slim ass, narrow hips with jutting bones, and hot _damn_ would he look good in lace, the smooth skin peaking through every gap in the fabric, a thick cock barely contained, maybe hard and peaking out the top of the band...

“Sorry, that was an inappropriate question,” the man turned towards Dean’s wig boxes and began to stack them, and though his tone was yet neutral, Dean now caught the hint of embarrassment beneath.

“Well, you gotta shave, for starters,” Dean said quickly, cheeks flushed. “Every day. It’s a pain if you don’t do it often but if you keep on top of it, it won’t take too long. Moisturize like crazy – after every time you shave, and any other time you feel dry. Don’t skimp on your products: use good shaving cream, good skin cream, replace your razor blades often, all that jazz. If you’re not sure what to get, you can use Google, ask a queen, or see if there are any men or women in your social circle that’d know. I bet Rosen has some suggestions, for starters – I assume she’s your boss?” The man nodded. “Or, ya know, you can text me. Here’s my number.” Whipping out a business card and passing it over, Dean thanked the instinct that had told him stash his card in every pocket of every damn garment he brought with him. The man set a box down in exactly the same place he’d just picked it up from and took the card as if mystified by its function. “I’ve got a bit of experience at this point, I’ve been doing this for more than 15 years.”

“I know,” said the man. Dean blinked. An instant later the man started, flushed pale pink and looked anywhere but at Dean. “I mean...wow, damn, you probably think I’m a creep, asking about your underwear and everything. I’m a fan. My brother is a queen, and I was in the scene for a bit when I was younger. I moved onto other areas of show business, now I just...”

“Like wearing panties?” Man, those tanned cheeks looked _gorgeous_ blushed red, blue eyes nearly glowing with embarrassment.

“Um, well...”

“Hey, man, it’s all cool,” Dean grinned. A single step closed the space between them and, courage flowing from his euphoric post-performance rush, Dean took the man’s hand and used their combined grip to tug his loose jeans down and lay the man’s hand on the panties Dean had changed into after the segment earlier. Thongs were sexy as hell but not comfortable enough for every day wear. “Who am I to judge?”

The man stared at the triangle of Dean’s golden flesh revealed by the adjustment, fingers tentatively brushing over the delicate black lace and sending a shiver down Dean’s spine. Jerking his head up, the man met Dean’s eyes, pupils wide and dark, desire writ large in every nostril-flaring breath.

“Cas,” the man said. Dean blinked in confusion. “That’s my name. Cas.”

“Nice to—”

A hand came to Dean’s shoulders and pulled him forward against Cas’ body. Their lips met with a wet smack, Cas’ working against him, his panting breaths whispering into Dean’s mouth with a flavor of cinnamon and clove. Surprise paralyzed Dean only for an instant before he leaned into the kiss, lifting a hand to cup Cas’ cheek even as Cas’ raised hand clasped the back of Dean’s neck, his other rubbing hard over the lacy panty band, imprinting Dean’s skin with the flowered pattern. Cas ended the kiss as abruptly as he’d begun it, pulling away, leaving them both breathless. Nodding to himself, Cas smiled and ran a hand through his hair, leaving it even more disheveled than it had begun. “Well. I have to get back to work. We’ll make sure your belongings get back to Kansas City safely, Ms...Dean. And I’ll definitely text you tonight.”

“Good,” Dean grinned. His whole body was tingling pleasantly, heat settled into his belly. He adored the way the sensitive skin of his cock tickled and pricked as he grew hard against lace. It was a long time since he’d last had the experience, a long time since anyone had aroused Dean enough for him to harden from a single kiss. Cas turned to leave. “Oh, and Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“Buy better panties.” Cas blinked at him, tilting his head uncertainly to one side. “That’s why the lace is coarse. If you get nicer stuff the panties won’t irritate your skin nearly as bad. And anyway...” Dean leaned forward and breathed hot directly into Cas’ ear. “You’re worth the expense.”

Frantic fingers tangled in Dean’s hair again, smearing Dean’s lips across Cas’ cheek before bringing their mouths together once more. Cas kissed him desperately, urgently, as if he was starving for it. It was easily the hottest fucking thing to happen to Dean in recent memory. Dean wrapped a hand around the small of Cas’ back; Cas reached around, tugged Dean’s hand down, made sure Dean’s fingers found the promised coarse lace underwear.

Fuck “recent memory,” this was the hottest thing to happen to Dean _ever_.

* * *

_(917) 555-4221 (6:20 pm): Hello Dean, this is Cas._

_Dean (6:27 pm): Hey Cas sorry didn’t hear my phone. It’s really fricken loud in here._

_Cas (6:28 pm): Are you busy this evening?_

_Dean (6:30 pm): Show at 9 – getting ready, meeting my hosts and co-stars, you know the drill._

_Cas (6:31 pm): I don’t, no, but I believe you. I’d like to see you tonight, Dean._

_Dean (6:35 pm): Sure yeah they gave me tickets to give to my friends but I don’t know anyone local so you can have them. If you wanted to bring anyone else that’d be cool I think there are 4 tix. We’re at Lucky Chengs on Delancy Street._

_Cas (6:36 pm): That’s very generous of you, thank you, and I would love to come and watch you perform again, but I meant I’d like to see you, Dean. Privately. If you’d like._

_Dean (6:37 pm): Oh._

_Dean (6:41 pm): That’d be awesome._

_Dean (6:44 pm): I’ll be done around midnight if that works._

_Dean (6:49 pm): But I get that it’s Friday night and you’ve been working all week if that’s too late it’s cool too. No pressure._

_Dean (6:53 pm): Fuck Cas I didn’t mean to make you think I wasn’t interested. I am._

_Dean (6:58 pm): Interested, I mean. I am interested in seeing you again. Privately._

_Cas (6:59 pm): I’m sorry, Dean, I should have warned you I was getting on the subway. There’s no signal underground. Midnight is fine. I don’t have to work tomorrow. Perhaps we could get drinks after the show?_

_Dean (7:01 pm): Thank fucking God._

_Dean (7:02 pm): I mean that sounds awesome._

_Dean (7:03 pm): I mean it’d be cool to spend more time with you Cas._

_Dean (7:05 pm): I really want to punch the fucking asshole who decided to make it so that text messages can’t be deleted after sending them._

_Cas (7:07 pm): I don’t understand, what text messages would you like to delete, Dean?_

_Dean (7:08 pm): Never mind Cas. I’ll see you tonight._

_Cas (7:10 pm): I’m looking forward to it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gaaah I just looked through this and noticed a lot of the italicization got eaten when I transferred from Word. I've tried to fix it all, hope it's not confusing...
> 
> I hate having to divide this into chapters but I have a busy day, don't have time to edit the whole thing this morning, and I don't want to wait any longer to post. I'm going to try to get the whole story up by the end of the day (the first draft is completely written; it's just under 15,000 words) but it may not be done til tomorrow. Thanks for your patience, guys!
> 
> Lyrics are No Doubt’s “Just a Girl.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I’m well aware that most drag kings/queens names are not simply a masculinization/feminization of their female/male names. I only did it this way in the context of this story to make it easier for readers to keep track of who is who, just cause these characters aren't around that long, and if their names were radically different I was worried it'd get confusing. :)

“Great turn out tonight!” Victoria said with a grin. The gorgeous black woman had been born Victor and had been a friend of Dean’s for years. They’d met in college and partnered up but when school finished Dean had decided to stay in Lawrence while Victoria had pursued her dreams by moving to New York. In the short term, Victoria’s choices had panned out much better than Dean’s had. Those first couple years in Lawrence had been utter shit. Moving to Kansas City, on the other hand, had been a great decision. “I’m so glad you’re here, Roberta. You’re gonna knock their socks off. When you feel the vibe here, maybe you’ll finally realize you shoulda come to New York with me in the first place...?”

“No regrets,” Dean said, shrugging. Victoria gave him a skeptically raised eyebrow. “Seriously. I mean it.”

“Whatever you say,” Victoria tweaked the curtain aside to look out at the boisterous audience. “Woah, someone get Gabby – her brother is here!”

“What’s that?” A queen whose name Dean hadn’t caught pushed past him and stood on her tiptoes to see through the gap above Victoria’s head. “Wow, he really his!” The queen turned towards backstage and roared towards the changing rooms, “Gabby! Gabby, why didn’t you tell me Cassie was coming?”

“First, so you would leave him the fuck alone,” came the response, dulled by the thick door. A moment later, the older queen came out, positively regal in a sweeping, floor-length gown, dramatic make up making her long, broad face impressively feminine and dignified. “Second, cause I didn’t know he would be here.” Dean had worked a few shows with Gabby. She was old-school, a real pro, one of the best lip syncers Dean had ever met. Her performing name was Gabriella Noman, her birth name Gabe. “Third, you’re full of it. Cassie’d _never_ come back here, not when you’re around.”

“While _Michelle_ is frequently full of it, in this case, I’m pretty sure she’s right,” said the show’s only drag king, a slim, cute red head who went by Charlie Chaplin and had a black-and-white themed outfit. “Took his ticket myself, as a matter of fact. Never thought I’d see the day Castiel came back to Lucky Cheng’s.”

Catching the curious look on Dean’s face, Victoria quirked a finger to summon him over and explained, “fourth table by the door – sitting next to the drunk bride-to-be in the feathered tiara – dark hair and—”

“Blue eyes,” muttered Dean. It was Cas. Of course it was. Cas was Gabby’s _brother_. Cas was _Gabby’s_ brother. Well, Cas _had_ said his brother was a queen. At least that explained how he knew who Dean was. In comparison to these big city queens, Dean was small fry, but if Cas had followed his brother’s career, he’d have at least heard Dean’s name.

“What was that?” Victoria asked.

“Nothin’,” Dean said. It was weird, but it was also a relief. Considering ways Cas might have heard of Dean made him _very_ nervous. The reality was mundane and pleasantly innocuous.

“Roberta, you were on the Rosen idiot’s show today, weren’t you?” said Gabby knowingly. Dean colored. “Yeah, I figured. Cassie’s been a fan of yours for years; he’s been gushing for a week that you were gonna be coming and he’d finally get a chance to meet you. I’ve been expecting a text from him all day. When I didn’t get one...honestly, I thought he’d chicken out.”

“What’s this?” asked Victoria, confused.

“What do you mean, Gabby?” demanded Michelle.

“Hey, Michelle? Why don’t you fuck off,” Gabby suggested. Michelle squawked angrily and looked about to protest, but retreated in the face of Victoria’s firm look, strutting off in clacking heels with as much dignity as she could muster, the feathers on her costume making her looking like a miserable molting peacock. “So, Ms. Plant, let me put this plainly: if you hurt my kid brother I will fucking kill you.”

“We _are_ talking about Cas, right?” he asked uncertainly.

“Yes. Cas – Cassie – Castiel Novak, my brother,” continued Gabby implacably. “He plays it cool but he wears his heart on his sleeve and when he falls, he falls hard. I’ll keep Michelle at bay – it took Cas _years_ to recover from what that bitch did to him – and I swear, if you hurt him, they will never find your body.”

“Dude...I live in Kansas...okay, I mean, yes, I invited Cas to the show tonight, and apparently the fact that he came is kind of a big deal? And we’re getting together after, but it’s not like we’re talking lifetime commitment, you know?” stammered Dean. “I barely know the guy.”

“Roberta – Bobby – I’m not asking you to propose on the first date,” Gabby rolled her eyes. “I just want you to know – my brother is not the ‘one and done’ kind and he’s not the ‘random hook up’ kind. So if you are – drop it and leave now.”

“Dean’s not either,” interjected Victoria softly. Dean colored at the vote of support, at the implied intimacy in the use of his actual name.

Only those closest to Dean knew how few relationships he’d had. Finding a romantic and sexual, male or female, who could accept him, could accept _all_ of him, had proved impossible, which was bizarre to him considering how easy he’d found it to make friends who accepted both sides of his personality. Being a firefighter attracted one type of partner: those who wanted a strong, attractive man, someone domineering and forceful, someone aggressive and masculine; they were not the kind of people interested in a man who wore panties almost every day. Being a queen attracted a nearly opposite set: those who wanted someone feminine, those who wanted a bottom, those who wanted a twink or a guy who thought of himself as a woman; not the kind of man with a cut six-pack and a penchant for exercising by hoisting a fire hose over his shoulder and running up and down stairs of an hour. The fucking scars on his back only made things worse, driving away most of those who could accept that he was simultaneously so masculine yet so feminine. When they learned he wasn’t actually a vision of perfection, most left; those who stayed tended to be the kind that _liked_ that he was battered, wanted to see him _more_ battered. Either way, Dean was fucked, and not in the fun way. Dean was _definitely_ not the love-um-and-leave-um kind; exposing himself enough to have sex with someone required him to extend to much trust, left him so vulnerable, that he could no longer face doing so unless he thought the other person would still be there for him in the morning. Dean didn’t yet have the least idea which type of person Cas was, and he dreaded Cas’ reaction to his scars.

“...alright. If _you_ say he’s okay, Vicky, I believe you. Bobby, you’ve got my blessing _for now_ ,” said Gabby. “But if Cassie says _one thing_ that makes me think you’re taking advantage of him...” With a sniff and a toss of her head that perfectly flipped the long hair of her wig, Gabby put her hands on her hips and sashayed towards the waiting lounge.

“Wow, Gabby really likes you!” Victoria said.

“Shit, yeah, I can tell,” said Dean sarcastically.

“No, seriously – what she did to Michelle after Castiel’s heart got broken is the stuff of legend at this point,” Victoria explained. “But you, you got Gabby’s _blessing_. Honestly, I’m a little jealous.”

“It’s all ridiculous, Vic,” Dean shook his head. “I’m leaving in four days and I barely know the guy. There’s no way this is going anywhere.”

“Uh huh. Sure. That’s why you’re meeting him tonight. Because you are so open to going out of your way to get laid. No, no, stop. Look – I know you. Just – you look after yourself, okay? And if _Castiel_ hurts _you_ , you let me know – I’ll go down in history if I get the chance to face Gabby in defense of your honor. It’ll be _epic_.”

*****

“I planned this poorly,” Dean confessed, meeting Cas in the empty dining room. Dean’s floor-length garment bag of costumes was slung over his shoulder, his wig box was tucked under his arm, and a rolling suitcase with his pads and accessories was in the other hand with his makeup kit strapped atop it. Not only was he late, there was no way he could go out so laden down.

“Are you staying in Hyatt?” Dean nodded. “I figured, Becky always puts the show guests there, they have a cross promotion set up. Isn’t there a bar in the lobby?”

“Really determined that you have to be drunk to spend time with me, huh?” said Dean, trying to soften the words with a wink and a smirk and dismiss the sting he felt that Cas was so intent on getting Dean drunk.

“Going to a bar together is a standard activity for those considering a liaison,” Cas explained with a frown. “I’m open to other ideas, however.”

“Hey, you’re the local, I’m just a country hick,” Dean shrugged. “If you’ve got any suggestions, I’m all ears, but I don’t know shit about New York City beyond the obvious. Whatever we decide, I have to go back to the hotel first and drop these things off.” Without asking permission, Cas casually took two of the boxes from Dean and together they started down the street towards the subway. Awkward silence fell between them as they covered the first half-block. Determined to help them get off to a better start, Dean fished through for a topic of conversation.

“So, you’re Gabriella’s brother?” Walking a few feet ahead of Dean, Cas’ posture stiffened though his steps didn’t slow.

“Yeah,” Cas said tightly. “He knows about this?”

“Sorry.”

“What’d he threaten you with?”

“Death.”

Cas froze so abruptly Dean collided with his back. “That’s all? Wow, he must really like you.”

“That’s what Vic thought, too,” said Dean, giving Cas a nudge to get him moving again, stepping forward to walk alongside him instead of behind. “It’s pretty much par for the course, honestly. All my friends threaten to murder me when I suggest going on a date with one of their siblings.” The sidewalks were narrow and crowded, the neighborhood popular even this late at night, the atmosphere was jovial and the air full of the sound of boisterous shouts and laughter. Dean could get used to this kind of place.

“This happens to you often?” asked Cas, taking up the pace next to Dean. Not a single person gave him and Cas a judging look even when they gave small signs that they were together; not a single person scowled or shook their heads; not a single person intentionally bumped Dean’s shoulder or postured aggressively because he dared show his face on the street in the company of a man. At home, Dean had to be careful when strangers were around, but in New York he was normal – or at least he could pretend to be when he wasn’t in drag, he did wonder how they’d react if he was dressed as Roberta. There was nothing weird about him here. Walking with Cas didn’t cause Dean to feel weird.

“Well, no,” Dean said. “To tell the truth…it’s been awhile. Since I dated _anyone_ , I mean, not since I dated a friend’s brother or sister.”

“For me too,” said Cas softly, giving Dean a gentle smile that made his heart flutter like he was a damn teenager.

“It’s just…it’s tough, you know? KC is more liberal than you’d think, but the dating pool isn’t enormous, and even among those who might be interested in _me_ , there aren’t many who’d be interested in me. Those who want a drag queen don’t want a firefighter; those who want a firefighter are instantly turned off when they find out how I spend my weekends.” _And those few who can get past that take one look at my back and…_

“Idiots,” Cas snorted. “Dean, you are both the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen and the handsomest man. As far as I’m concerned, you’re the perfect combination.”

It was Dean’s turn to freeze in place at the top of the staircase leading down to the B train, color rising from the top of his chest to the roots of his hair, his jaw hanging open. Cas was halfway down the stairs before he realized Dean hadn’t followed; he stopped, turned back, blushed and looked away when he saw how stunned Dean was.

_Move your ass, Winchester, show some hustle, it was just a compliment, and far from the most flowery you’ve ever gotten…_

Dizzy with vertigo, Dean forced one foot forward than the other, leaning against the handrail in the middle of the flight of stairs since he didn’t have a free hand with which to cling to it, his suitcase clattering as it fell down each step.

_…sure, lots of people have given me ridiculous compliments but none of them looked like him. None of them said both. None of them so obviously meant every single word._

Dean walked past Cas, trying to act nonchalant even as his shoulders tensed. He could imagine Cas seeing through the back of Dean’s shirt to the scars beneath, could imagine the gorgeous man’s reaction to the discovery. Dean knew he was handsome, toned, cut, knew that the hours he spent fucking around on a weight bench while he was on call had done wonders for the muscles of his chest and shoulders and ass. He also knew that, regardless of what _he_ thought, every partner he’d had since the fire had either cringed and averted their eyes when they’d seen his burns or they’d given him an excited look as if they thought he’d _liked_ having half the fucking skin of his back seared off. At least the few who’d had the second reaction were easy to identify and promptly dump; the first reaction was what cut him to the bone. They never looked at him the same again; Dean could always see the wince and sympathy tighten around their eyes. Dean had tried, _really_ tried, to make a relationship work with someone who flat-out refused to acknowledge part of his body, but after several attempts he’d come to accept that while _he_ could cope with the scars, he couldn’t stay with a partner who _couldn’t_. It made him too sad, brought back too many memories. All he wanted was to be treated as normal, as undamaged. All he wanted was to be treated by others the same way he perceived himself. He was _healed_.

The trip back to the Hyatt passed in light talk. Any doubt Dean might have harbored that he was attracted both to Cas’ person and to his personality faded quickly. Even under the harsh light of the subway car, Cas was spectacularly attractive, messy brown hair reading as black, eyes captivating blue. Cas’ scruffy outfit looked suave on him, rather than making him look like a hobo or a hipster. Slacks, the same button up shirt as he’d worn at his job, except now it was untucked, a loose black vest, a dangling tie the same shade as his eyes: the whole ensemble _worked_. His cheeks were gray with stubble that Dean longed to brush his lips over…

_…longed to rub his cock over, feel the tickle of the rough strands like lace over his sensitive skin, before slipping his length between obliging pink lips…_

Repressing a shudder, Dean was thankful for the garment bag draped over his lap and chest, hiding any shifting in his pants as he thickened against his panties. _Fuck, I can’t get hard on the subways, that’s just a whole new level of pathetic creeper. Come on, Dean, think disgusting thoughts…cow shit, dog vomit, dad in a thong, Sammy in a thong, oh God why would I think of that, uh, Barbara Bush…_ fortunately, he had a hell of a lot of experience repressing erections. They could be positively dangerous if he was tucked, so he’d learned a lot of tricks for keeping his libido under control.

More than one person on the train gave Cas an appreciative glance, gave Dean an assessing one, presumably trying to figure out what exactly Dean’s relationship was to Cas, if Cas might be receptive to a pick up attempt. Dean’s most gratifying observation was that every single potential pick up artist moved on without saying a word. The intensity with which Cas looked at Dean was undeniable, his focus completely absorbed, his every expression, gesture, and word was directed Dean’s way. Being the focus of Cas’ attention, of his gorgeous gaze, was breathtaking. Even though they were talking about bullshit, about mutual acquaintances and shows they’d seen and people they’d met and places they’d been, about Cas’ work at the TV station and Dean’s friends at the fire department, Cas reacted to everything Dean said as if Dean was the most interesting person Dean had ever met.

Castiel was the most interesting person Dean had ever met.

By the time they arrived at the hotel, Dean’s insides were a coiled, writhing mess of nerves and excitement and curiosity and enthusiasm. The idea of spending more time with Cas was enthralling, the knowledge that regardless of how well they hit it off, Dean would be leaving in a mere days was depressing, the conviction that he wasn’t the only one tumbling head first into a massive crush was undeniable, and the promise of having Cas alone in his hotel room even for a minute or two was dangerously tempting.

“Uh…so, if you pass me those boxes, I’ll just run upstairs, drop all this off, and be back down in a minute, okay?” said Dean as smoothly as he could manage as they came to a stop before the bright-polished elevator in the lavish hotel lobby.

There was a pause as Cas considered these words, his eyebrows bunching in concentration, his lips pursed in thought. Baffled about what could be so complicated about his statement, Dean mustered all of his stage experience not to shift uncomfortably in place.

“Dean.”

“Yeah?”

“Perhaps this is asking a lot…” Cas licked his lips, looked up and locked his gaze on Dean. The rest of the world fell away instantly. _Must kiss him, holy shit, have to get my lips on his like right the fuck now and…_ “Subtext is not my strong suit. In my last relationship, I discovered only after the fact that my partner – you probably met Michelle? Her name when she's not in drag is Michael – he spent a great deal of time _hinting_  and very little saying explicitly what he meant. When I was unable to guess what he was suggesting I took him literally, which proved to be…wrong. Since then, I’ve reflected on what I would like to go differently if and when I made another attempt at being with someone. The conclusion I reached was that, more than anything, I needed directness and clarity. Don’t mistake me – it’s alright to play coy sometimes, even fun – but in terms of, shall I say, larger concerns, I do not think we should go on a date if we cannot be straightforward and honest with each other.” He paused, giving Dean a chance to interject, but Dean could think of nothing to say and as silence stretched out, Cas took a deep breath and continued.

“Gabe thinks this is a highly unreasonable thing of me to request and has suggested that expecting anyone to be honest, especially on a first date, is asking far too much,” Cas sounded deeply troubled, though Dean couldn’t guess which aspect of his statement was what was troubling him. “Thus far, I’ve tried to follow his advice, but I’ve met so few people I’ve been interested in that I haven’t needed to test it. You’re different, Dean. Thinking on what you just said, it is depressingly clear to me that, as kindly intentioned as my brother’s advice is, I cannot follow it. I refuse to stand here and wait for you for unknown minutes as I grow increasingly frazzled wondering what you _didn’t_ say, trying to guess why you don’t want me to come upstairs with you. I need you to tell me – about this specific case, about any and all similar instances as they arise in the future. If this is asking too much of you, then I’m sorry. I genuinely enjoy your company and hope to enjoy a great deal more of it, but I can _not_ face again what has happened to me before. I am afraid I must insist on candor or I’m going home, now, alone. What I can promise: if you can do this for me, I can do it for you as well. You’ll never have to guess what I mean. I’ll tell you, flat out, what my intentions are.”

“Oh.” In the face of Cas’ declaration, Dean could think of nothing to say. The doors of the elevator pinged and opened behind him, someone snorted and knocked against Dean’s shoulder to get by him, but nothing could break the magnetic power of Cas’ stare. The longer Cas waited before him in silence, the more nervous Dean got. _I can’t do that, I couldn’t, there are so many things I can’t say, there are so many things I need to hide. How will he react if he knows, what will he think of me…but that’s the beautiful thing about it, right? He’ll_ tell _me what he thinks_ , show _me how he reacts. I’ll never have to guess. All I have to do…is do the same for him._ Dean’s nerves broke like the sun breaking through a storm. He _could_ do this.

“Here’s the thing, Cas,” Dean said, licking his lips. “I need to take these things upstairs alone and drop them off, because if you come upstairs with me there is not a chance in hell I’m going to be able to keep my hands off you. I think you’re gorgeous, I have spent the entire damn day imagining what panties you’ve got on under those jeans, and, I mean, I’ve got willpower, but asking me to bring you up to my room and _not_ kiss your lips sore and rub my hands all over your body…that’s asking _way_ too much.”

The smile that broke over Cas’ face was the sun in truth, dissipating the cloud that had furrowed Cas’ brow and cast dark shadows over his beautiful eyes. “Excellent,” said Cas brightly. “I concur. Would that a problem?” Dean blinked, confused. Cas clarified, “If we go upstairs and do not leave your room again, would you consider that an unacceptable way to spend the evening?”

“Uh…no,” Dean licked his lips and reveled in the hungry way Cas’ gaze shifted down to watch Dean’s mouth. “No, I think that’d be a pretty awesome way to spend the evening.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I’ll get the rest posted tomorrow, guys. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Post-traumatic flashback in this chapter. I didn't tag PTSD in this story because the symptoms aren't that severe, but just - be aware there is a flashback related to incidents that ARE tagged. :)

Only devotion to his craft kept Dean focused long enough to make sure that he hung the garment bag in the closet and that his suitcase, makeup case, and wig boxes ended up properly upright and stacked rather than tossed aside to fall as they would. Cas was on him the instant the door slammed shut, tugging Dean’s shirt up and his jeans down, ruffling his hair, massaging strong hands against every inch of bared skin.

“God, you’re beautiful,” groaned Cas, tugging Dean away from closet. Dean’s heel caught and he lost his balance, falling backwards against Cas, who caught him with surprising ease and locked his lips on Dean’s neck, rutted his erection against Dean’s ass through the thick denim of their jeans.

“Cas,” Dean moaned. Reaching back, he cupped Cas’ ass, encouraged him to continue. If he was to have no inhibitions about what he said, why have them about expressing what he wanted? And _fuck_ did he want Cas to keep pushing against him, wanted Cas to push inside him. “What do you want, Cas?”

Strong arms wrapped around Dean’s front. One reached up to hold Dean’s chest in place, keep their bodies locked back-to-chest. The other hand kneaded down Dean’s belly, slipped beneath Dean’s loose jeans, cupped Dean’s cock through the lace of his panties, rubbed the rough fabric against Dean’s length.

“Fuck,” Cas breathed against Dean’s neck. “I don’t know – I can’t decide.” Dean fumbled awkwardly behind him, managed to work a hand into Cas’ jeans, followed the swirling pattern on the cloth laid thin over Cas’ ass. Searching fingers traced down Cas’ crack, found a hard edge of plastic wedged beneath Cas’ cheeks. “All I know is I want you under me, want to hold you down, want to watch your green eyes swallowed by black desire, want to feel you writhe against the mattress. Is that alright, Dean?” Another groan ripped from Dean’s lungs and he grasped the end of the plug and pulsed it within Cas’ body. Cas surged against him, thrusting hard, squeezing Dean painfully tightly as he sought to bring them even closer together.

“Yes!”

_I need to feel him inside me, fuck, do I need that, but it has been so God damned long since I’ve gotten to thrust into someone, gotten to feel that friction and that rush, gotten to feel their muscles clench around me as they come._

“Both,” gasped Dean. “Can we do both? I want…Cas, I need…”

“Greedy,” Cas murmured, sucking at Dean’s earlobe. “It depends.” Stretching the delicate lace, Cas wrapped his hand around Dean’s cock, stroked him and abraded the fabric over his length, teased a finger over where Dean’s tip peaked out over the elastic band. Torn, Dean couldn’t figure out if he wanted to push back hard against the cock lined up against his ass or thrust forward into Cas hand. The competing urges paralyzed him, body awash in glorious sensation. “Can you be good for me, Dean? If I fill you…” Panting, Cas shifted his hand from Dean’s shoulder, traced it down his body, deftly undid the button and zipper on Dean’s pants and allowed them to fall and pool at Dean’s feet.“…if I spread your legs, fill you with my cock, fuck you ‘til I come, stroke you ‘til you ruin these pretty panties, are you going to come?”

“Holy _shit_ , Cas,” he groaned. “Keep sayin’ stuff like that, I’m gonna come just fuckin’ standing here.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, Dean.” As abruptly as the onslaught had started, it ended. Cas stepped back, dislodged Dean’s hands, removed his own. With a ragged inhalation, Dean slumped forward against the closet door, the solid surface all that kept him from crumpling to his knees in euphoric weakness.

“Look, I don’t fuckin’ know – don’t know if I can keep from coming if you do that,” Dean admitted, trying to get enough air in his lungs to stop the world from spinning. “But I’d sure as hell like to _try_.”

“Do or do not,” said Cas sagely to the accompaniment of rustling cloth. “There is no try.”

“Ugh, seriously dude? Yoda – not hot.”

“No Muppet kink,” Cas muttered, a laugh obvious despite the apparent gravity of his tone. “Pity.” Jeans made a heavy thunk as they fell to the carpeting. “Strip for me, Dean. Except those panties. I hope you’ll forgive me, but there’s no way those are surviving the night.”

_Shit, no, he’s standing behind me, if I take off my shirt, he’ll see…I can’t…_

Gentle hands came to rest on Dean’s shoulders, skimmed lightly over his back, and hot lips pressed to the back of his neck above the collar of his shirt. Another inch down and Cas would be able to see the wreck of his skin. Dean shuddered. “Hey.” Cas pressed against him, and despite the heat of moments before the eroticism was gone from Cas’ body language. Instead, he was supportive, tender, kind. Dean’s tension was stark by contrast, bunching his shoulders, clenching the muscles of his back and chest, making it difficult to breathe. “What just happened? I can spare the panties if you prefer, but I can’t deny that the idea of absolutely ruining them as I take you is incredibly alluring. Am I making you uncomfortable by taking the lead like this? Is the dirty talk coming on too strong?”

“No,” Dean took a deep draw of air with difficulty, let it out in stuttering bursts. The stress binding his back eased under Cas’ delicate touch, soothed at the warmth pressed against him. “No, I’m okay.”

“Dean…” Cas said warningly. Dean drew another shuddering breath, let his head clunk heavily against the wall. Cas stepped away and the rush of cold air against Dean’s back in Cas’ absence was horrible, quelling his excitement and arousal, leaving his knees shaking. “I’m sorry,” Cas said. “After downstairs, I thought…but of course, we still barely know each other, it was unreasonable of me to…” Listening to Cas move around, hearing the distinct sounds of pants being drawn up, a zipper being pulled, should not make Dean feel like his heart was breaking. He’d known this man for less than twelve damn hours.

 _But fuck do I want this, want_ him _, he’s gorgeous, but more…I’ll always know where I stand with him. How awesome would that be? Who cares if he’s in New York and I’m in Kansas City? Who cares if we can’t see each other often? If there’s even a chance this will work, God, I have to see him smile more, have to hear him laugh, have to feel him move inside me. I_ need _…_

“Don’t apologize to me, Cas,” Dean forced the words out, hoping they’d get easier if he could make himself keep talking. “Fuck, that’s…I mean, don’t be ridiculous, you didn’t do anything wrong, I’m the one who’s panicking like a…” _Like a pussy, son, like a fuckin’ woman, did I raise you to be fuckin’ girl? If I’d wanted a daughter you think your mom and I woulda stopped having kids?_ “…I’m the one panicking ‘cause I’ve got baggage.” His chest felt tight, but he was sure this was the right thing to do. Cas had cleared the air right up front, explained clearly what his deal breaker was rather than risk it coming out later and screwing things up. If Dean couldn’t do the same, he didn’t deserve this chance. He listened desperately for any sign of movement from Cas, wished the other man would come back, stand behind him once more, support and ease him, but the room was silent save for their breathing and the whisper of the air conditioner. “You said you’ve been a fan for a while. Um…so…do you know about the fire?”

“I know you’re a firefighter…” said Cas uncertainly. “Does it creep you out that I’m a fan? I didn’t mean to come off as intrusive. You performed with my brother a number of years ago and I was very impressed, and not only because you’re beautiful – you’re clever, talented, and how hard you work shows. Since then watched as many videos as I could find, but I haven’t stalked your personal life, I…”

“Woah, woah, stop apologizing, Cas. Can you please let me say this?” Dean forced himself from the wall, locked his knees to keep his balance, turned to face Cas. The lights in the room were on dimly, walls dark beige, carpet black, furniture brown, as they stood in the entry foyer beside the closet.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Cas at least quirked a smile as he apologized again. “I’ll shut up now.”

“Thanks, I…” Dean closed his eyes slowly, opened them slowly, breathed deeply, tried to figure out where to start, what to say. _Way to kill the mood, Winchester._ “Fuck it,” he muttered. It was easier to show and then give whatever explanations proved necessary. It wasn’t like his scars were a secret, every queen in Kansas City had seen Dean when he changed. Then again, not a single one of them had passed the “can they look at me without cringing” test. The thought that Cas might react as most did, by looking away, by scrunching his face in sympathy, by being unable to see past the ragged burns, was enough to make Dean feel like he couldn’t breathe. _Better now than later._ Gripping the bottom of his shirt, he tugged it over his head to bare his torso. Cas’ sharp intake of breath and widening eyes as he surveyed Dean’s muscled chest suggested that Cas didn’t think the mood so dead as Dean did, but there was no follow up, no touch. Steeling himself, Dean turned around to show Cas his back.

The shocked gasp that burst from Cas at seeing the tattered skin hurt, feeling surprisingly evocative of the pain Dean had suffered when he’d been burned so severely.

_Well, that was short lived._

A cool finger brushed over the sensitive skin and Dean failed to repress a shiver. One finger became two, three, skimming hesitantly over the ridged and pocked flesh.

_Oh, fuck, it’s even worse, he’s one of those who think it’s cool, who think it’s hot, dammit, what is it with me attracting fuckin’ weirdos?_

“May I ask what happened, Dean?” The hesitancy in Cas’ words exactly matched that of his touch, and despite Dean’s fears Cas didn’t sound aroused, he sounded worried. No, Dean realized, Cas sounded like he was trying to calm a skittish animal, trying with his voice to communicate that everything was alright.

“Nothing good,” muttered Dean. Though he usually felt comfortable in his body, standing in the entryway in nothing but his panties, his slowly-softening cock nestled in the dampened fabric, left him self-conscious. Cas’ tentative touches didn’t help. Dean walked into the room, furnished sparsely with a king-size bed, a low chest of drawers, a desk, office chair, and television. The comforter was generic, the polyester coarse, but despite that Dean climbed into the center of the bed, seized the blanket, wrapped it around his shoulders and encased himself in it as armor against the knit-browed expression Cas wore as he followed Dean into the room. “I started doin’ drag when I was 17.” His usually faint southern drawl grew more pronounced as his heart thrummed with nerves. His friends from college, people like Vic, knew what had happened, there was no way they _couldn’t_ know, but he rarely spoke of it other than that. He’d been terrified that Rosen would ask at his interview and ineffably relieved when she didn’t. “It was tough. I in high school, livin’ at home, and I had to hide everything from my dad. I don’t think my mom woulda cared, and my brother was a kid, but dad never made any secret what he thought of ‘fags,’ much less any twink stupid enough to think he had any excuse for dressin’ up in women’s clothing or puttin’ on makeup.”

Dean would have given a great deal to make Cas stop staring at him. Cas’ bare chest seemed to glow in the lamp light, feathered in dark strands of hair, unbuttoned jeans hanging low enough on his hips to give Dean a view of a triangle of black lace. Ten minutes ago he’d been desperate to get his hands on that skin, to touch those panties, to feel that cock in him – _God, he’s still wearing a fucking plug, that’s so fuckin’ hot_ – but it was impossible to stay horny in the face of what he had to say, in the face of Cas’ reaction so far. “No danger of Dad suspectin’, though – I was captain of the football team, bangin’ the head cheerleader, already confirmed that I’d be followin’ in dad’s footsteps as a firefighter, it was all good, right? Little did he know. Rhonda – that’s the cheerleader – was the one who suggested I try on her panties, and she _insisted_ on putting makeup on me, and damn if I didn’t love every fuckin’ minute of it.”

As if Cas had read Dean’s mind, he moved to the bed, scooted until he was sitting behind Dean. Firm hands massaged Dean’s shoulders and Dean shuddered as calming heat diffused through him.

_I can do this, I can._

“I lived at home during college, too, goin’ to class during the day, let my dad think I was out late with my buddies drinking when I was actually doin’ my first shows,” Dean continued. “All my friends knew, helped me keep it a secret. Still don’t know how dad found out, but I got home one evening to the whole street reekin’ of smoke. Dad was in the living room, rantin’ and ravin’ as he threw all my stuff in the fire place. Son of a bitch shoulda realized how fuckin’ flammable some of the synthetics were, but he was too pissed to think straight. Fuckin’ laid into me as soon as I stepped in, never seen anyone that angry in my whole damn life. While he was tearin’ me a new one, somethin’ or other went up, and then it was the sofa, and the carpet, and the drapes – the whole room. It can happen like that, when things get hot enough. Long story short, everything went to hell, my mother died, my brother nearly didn’t make it out, my dad’s still in jail and’ll probably die there, which as much as he fuckin’ deserves,, and I’m damn lucky that I didn’t need anything worse than skin grafts, considering the beating he gave me and the intensity of the fire.”

_The whole room afire, the way out blocked, Sam and his mom screaming upstairs, his dad still shouting at Dean and hitting him as if John didn’t realize how fuckin’ dangerous things were, the crackle of burning wood, the reek of burning plastic, and pain, so much pain, God, he hurt all over but he had to get to Sam, had to get to his mother. The stairs burned scorchingly hot, incandescently bright, why didn’t they escape through a window, why didn’t they jump to safety, why did they just keep screaming? And then they stopped screaming, and that was even worse. Scrambling, Dean bolted for the stairs, left John’s shouts behind, ran as fast he could. How could the fire have spread so fast? It made no sense, the walls were burning, the smoke choked at him. Sammy’s door was open even though Sam shoulda known better, the bed ablaze, the wall collapsed where the chimney had given way, spitting flames into the room like dragon’s breath. Fire blocked the way to the window and Sam slumped in the far corner by his closet, unconscious from smoke inhalation or who knew what. Gotta get Sammy out of here, gotta get him clear. He hefted his brother in a fireman’s carry and stood, his head amidst thick gray smoke, sprinted down the hall, tried and failed to ignore his aching muscles, his busted arm, his bruised ribs, his burning lungs. He made it to the stairs before he was overcome; he pitched down the steep incline, did his damnedest to keep his body between his brother and the flames. His father was gone, the weakened wood of the stairs gave way, and the last thing Dean remembered was using all his strength to throw Sam towards the inexplicably open front door._

“Shhh,” the sound was a soothing lifeline in Dean’s ear, something he could grab and hold to lead him back, to lead him home. His cheeks were wet, his body trembling, but someone made a steady pillar of support behind him, and he sighed, compelled to relax. “You’re okay, now. You’re okay.” He couldn’t place the voice, couldn’t place the touch, but it was so nice it was hard to care. “The pain’s in the past. You’ve healed, heart and soul and skin. You’re so beautiful, Dean. I thought you were gorgeous when I’d only seen you afar, and I only barely know you now, but you’re already so much more beautiful than I’d have imagined possible. I’m so glad you survived that, so glad you recovered; I’m so glad you’re here and that I had a chance to meet you.”

“Cas…” The name came to him like a prayer, like a blessing. How could someone he’d known so briefly already mean so damn much?

“Is this okay, Dean?”

“Yeah, Cas. This is great.”

* * *

Slow shifts brought them closer and closer together as the night wore on until Cas was wrapped in the blanket with Dean, their bodies cocooned together. Though the brush of skin on skin was erotic, the moreso because Cas had stripped to his panties and removed the plug, even the press of the naked bodies together wasn’t enough to revive the urgent heat of their first initial burst of attraction. The forboding sense that Dean would only get one shot at this was gone, the feeling that whatever connection they had would shatter due to Dean’s scars or the distance or any of a million other reasons had vanished. Cas’ arms enfolded him, clasped him close, a thumb massaged wonderfully and incessantly against the base of Dean’s spine, and they rested with their foreheads together, bodies tangled, words whispered directly into each other’s ears.

They talked all night.

Dean talked about how Chief Singer had taken he and Sammy in after the fire and become like a father to them, talked about how the gang at the fire station and his drag family had become everything to him. He talked about Sammy, married and settled in Kansas City as well, the paragon of the American family with a dog, two children and a third on the way. He talked about healing, about how long it had taken and how rewarding it had been, how happy he was now. In exchange, Cas shared about his life, about his large religious family, about how shocked he’d been when his brother Gabriel had come out in his early 20s, about the even greater shock of discovering that his parents and the congregation he’d been raised in were accepting, not only of Gabe’s homosexuality but of his crossdressing. Their reaction had spurred Cas to his own reveal, and if they didn’t _understand_ bisexuality, none withheld their love over it, and that had meant the world to Cas. He talked about how hard it had been to leave home in Illinois, to pursue a career in media in the city, how he’d built a social circle amongst Gabe’s friends. Things had been going well until he dated Michael, but it hadn’t been a good relationship. After they broke up, Michael had spread lies about Cas, and though Gabe had ruthlessly set Michael down and Cas’ friends had stuck up for him, many believed and Cas had no longer felt comfortable amongst the only friends he’d had. He’d buried himself in his work after that, left the scene he’d once been immersed in, stuck mostly to himself. Dean’s heart ached to hear it and he ran an easing hand down Cas’ back, wishing there was a way he could help, wishing he could share his ample and wonderful friends – his _family_ – with Cas.

_Maybe, someday…_

Dim pink and gray light suffused the room when they finally reached a point where neither said more. It wasn't that there wasn’t more to say – Dean thought he’d never run out of things he wanted to say to Cas – but, between fatigue and contentment, Dean had reached the point that he’d rather lose himself in Cas’ beautiful eyes than attempt to formulate coherent sentences. Either Cas felt the same or he was satisfied to accept that Dean was done talking, for he said nothing, meeting Dean’s eyes with a steady blue gaze, his massaging fingers shifting to caress the same place on Dean’s waist over and over again.

Without breaking eye contact, Dean moved his head closer, bumped their noses together, flicked his tongue out to lick at Cas’ lips. Cas blew a happy sigh faintly over Dean’s mouth, drying Dean’s tongue and he pulled back to moisten it. In languid pursuit, Cas lifted his head and kissed Dean tenderly, both their eyes slipping shut. It was strangely innocent and chaste after the intensity of their earlier arousal, but it was even more wonderful. Lost in darkness, surrounded by warmth, Dean surrendered to his instincts and basked in the growing pleasure of the kisses. Lips worked against lips, tongues teased together and flicked apart, heat pooled in Dean’s gut and slowly grew, slowly spread, until he felt hot pleasure throughout his body, sensed bliss as light gathered in his mind and limbs and toes and fingertips. The pleasure plateaued and Dean longed for more, for touch to his nipples, his cock, his pucker. As if sensing Dean’s need, Cas shifted, rolled Dean on to his back, loosened the blankets enough that Cas could hold himself over Dean, so close that their panty-bound erections brushed. Eager despite the continued slow deliberation of every movement, Cas swallowed the moan that leaked from Dean’s lips, sucked at the corner of Dean’s mouth, trailed kisses along Dean’s cheek, his chin, down his neck and along his shoulder. Unwilling to allow much distance between them, Dean wrapped his arms around Cas’ lower back, pressed their bodies together at the hips, tangled their legs. Cas ground his hard cock against Dean’s and muffled a groan against Dean’s neck.

“This okay, Cas?”

“It’s great, Dean,” Cas whispered. He flicked his tongue wetly over Dean’s nipple. Dean whimpered, flesh hardening to a sensitive nub, back arching from the bed in pursuit of Cas gorgeous mouth. “You’re great. What do you want?”

“Everything you promised last night,” Dean trailed off with a grateful groan as Cas drew his nipple into the sultry heat of Cas; mouth and sucked at it gently, nipped at it roughly. “Starting with you inside me. I don’t have condoms though – lube, yeah, but not condoms – I wasn’t expecting to need them this trip, I’m not much into hook ups.”

“I brought a couple,” admitted Cas. “I’m not much into hook ups either but I’ll confess myself optimistic based on our initial meeting. Though I knew my behavior precipitous, I figured better safe than sorry. I brought lube, too.”

“And wore the plug? Optimistic seems like an understatement,” Dean teased.

“That was as much for me as you.” Cas colored adorably, peering up at Dean with his chin planted on Dean’s chest. “My odds of going home disappointed seemed high – even if our date went well sex seemed far-fetched – but I could always take care of myself after however I wanted if I was prepared.”

“That’s something I’d like to see,” breathed Dean. Cas hummed agreement and kissed a line to Dean’s other nipple, sucking roughly. One of his hands ghosted a gently down Dean’s side, nudged between Dean’s ass and the bed, pushed at Dean’s pucker through the lace of his panties. Dean’s breath hissed out as the hest filling him took on the first hints of urgency and he ground his ass back against Cas’ tauntingly light touch. A second finger joined the first, gathered enough loose fabric to press finger tips into Dean through lace. Skimming hands down Cas’ body, Dean hooked his fingers into Cas’ panties, dragged them down as far as he could, reveled in the hiss of Cas’ exhalation as the rough fabric teased over his muscular thighs.

“You seem pretty prepared, too, just need some lube,” said Cas, giving Dean a wicked grin as he drove his dry fingers in hard enough that Dean gasped at the tingling friction.

“His name is Bruce,” Dean said with a smirk. “He’s in the night stand drawer next to the bed, along with the lube I brought.”

“That’s something I’d like to see,” murmured Cas lasciviously, kissing and sucking his way up to Dean’s lips, stretching blindly towards the table. His questing hand couldn’t reach far enough, though, and he lost his balance, licking a stripe over Dean’s cheek as he tumbled to the side. Laughing, Dean rolled over, positioned himself over Cas, kissed him desperately as he pulled the drawer open and pushed his large dildo aside to grab the small tube of lubricant he’d brought in his checked bag. Dean leaned back, straddling Cas’ thighs, using his strong legs to hold himself high over Cas’ cock. Cas looked up at him in wide-eyed wonder, reached towards Dean’s chest as if afraid that he’d find Dean to be an illusion. Cas sighed in relief as his hands came to rest on Dean’s hips, coursed roughly over Dean’s firm muscles, rubbed at the softer flesh of Dean’s belly, played at the lace of Dean’s panties, deliberately neglected Dean’s trapped cock where it strained against the fabric. Squeezing a dollop of chill liquid onto his hand, negligently tossing the tube away, Dean nudged his panties aside, slipped two fingers into himself easily and spread the liquid deep into his body.

A growl hummed deep in Cas’ chest as he watched Dean work, lust-filled eyes tracking every movement of Dean’s hand, every twitch of Dean’s cock. Cas’ hands moved roughly up and down Dean’s sides in an imitation of thrusting. Giving himself a shake, Cas reluctantly took a hand away, grabbed his jeans, fished a condom from the pocket. Dean’s imagination choked with images of Cas filling him and, with a moan he couldn’t repress, Dean rode his hand, panties brushing his hand with every rise and fall, and watched Cas tear the condom packet open, take the thin plastic out, lick his lips and unroll it down his length. God, Dean felt amazing. It had been _so_ _long_ since Dean had prepped himself while anticipating anything more fun than an evening alone with Bruce, and _fuck_ did expecting the real thing change everything. He gave Cas a taunting wink even as he inadvertently clenched around his fingers, rippling pleasure through himself so intensely that he threw his head back and groaned.

“Want you…” Dean breathed. “Want you, Castiel, gonna feel so damn good to have you inside me...”

Cas’ pupils dilated, liquid and black, and he surged up from the bed, pushed Dean backwards, rolled them both so that Dean was on his back once more, Cas atop him, cock pressing against lace between Dean’s legs. With one hand, Cas pulled Dean’s panties against his thigh harshly enough that the elastic band dug into Dean’s hips; with the other, Cas lined himself up and pressed forward without waiting for Dean to get his hand out of the way. Delicious, unbelievable burn spread Dean wide as Cas thrust into him deeply in one stroke.

“Aw, _fuck_ ,” Dean breathed. His fingers came free from his body as Cas pulled out, thrust in again hard, breathed heavily into the flesh of Dean’s neck. Wrapping a hand behind each knee, Dean rocked himself backward to bury Cas more deeply, folded himself near double, pulled his legs and thighs as much out of the way as he could. Cas shuddered as he bottomed out in Dean’s ass, his balls brushing and tickling against Dean’s skin.

“Feels so good,” murmured Cas, sounding near delirious on the sensation. He drew out deliberately, pushed in just the same, again, again, building a steady rhythm, loud with the slap of skin on skin. Dean let his eyes slip shut, clenched his muscles around Cas’ cock. They both groaned at the intense pressure, the intense pleasure, the tingling burn of friction, the brush of Cas’ cock over the sensitive nub of Dean’s prostate at every stroke. They were pressed so closely together that Cas’ skin rubbed hot over the panties sheathing Dean’s cock and he felt an orgasm build within him even as he desperately tried to retain enough rationality to hold himself at bay, remembering Cas’ promise. Fucking _reading Dean’s mind_ , Cas whispered in his ear, “can’t wait to feel you inside me. Can’t wait to ride you and watch your face as you come.”

“Fuck,” Dean groaned again. “Fuck, Cas, yeah, I can’t wait either.”

There were no more words after that, only heavy breathing and the steady pulse of Cas’ cock in and out of Dean’s body. Cas wrapped one of his arms beneath Dean’s neck, used the other the knead hard up and down Dean’s side in tempo to his strokes. Dean floated, euphoric, on pleasure, matched every stroke with a roll of his hips. The only thing that kept Dean from begging for more, for demanding Cas go faster, harder, deeper, was the knowledge that if Cas pushed him further Dean would come and he didn’t want to, not yet, not like this, not when he had the chance to fill Cas’ still-stretched hole. Sweat slickened their skin where their bodies rubbed together, smoothed the brush of Dean’s shaved chest against Cas’ dusted with fine hairs, until Dean could feel every thrust everywhere on his body, feel it as if the entire world rocked every time Cas bottomed out.

Inarticulate murmurs betrayed how close Cas was, broken syllables that might have added up to _good_ and _Dean_ and _beautiful_ and _close_ and _want_ and _need_.

“Gonna come for me, Cas?” Dean asked, kissing at Cas’ temple. Dean pressed his hips down into the bedding and jerked them up, clenched around Cas’ cock, earned a deep groan that vibrated through Dean’s lungs, his heart, his entire fucking body. Chuckling, Dean did it again, interrupting Cas as he was about to say something, causing him to choke on the word and break into another groan. Cas’ hold on Dean tightened, he pressed his closed eyes to Dean’s skin so hard that Dean could feel the tears leaking from him, and Cas thrust hard.

“Yes, Dean” grunted Cas. He went tense, back arching away from Dean’s body, as he thrust again, Dean rose to meet him _again._ Cas’ hand clenched and unclenched against the thick muscle of Dean’s shoulder. “Yes.” Cas’ steady rhythm finally faltered, he barely withdrew, jerked in again hard. “ _Yes_.” Cas moaned, spasmed, raised himself above Dean, and Dean sent a silent prayer skyward for the loss of pressure on his cock was his only hope of not following Cas to climax. “Yes, Dean! _Yes_!” Cas half-thrust into him forcefully, repeatedly, as he worked himself mindlessly through his orgasm, his slack expression delicious and gorgeous. Dean did his best to match Cas’ movements, to clench and drive him even higher, to focus on increasing Cas’ pleasure as a means of forestalling his own. Nonetheless, his vision of the room was fuzzed, his body suffused with dizzying pleasure, his breaths coming in desperate pants, by the time Cas finished moaning and writhing against Dean’s body. Letting his legs go, Dean wrapped his arms around Cas, soothed him, reveled in touching him and the moans and fractured thrusts that even the gentlest brush prompted.

Cas’ grip on Dean’s shoulder finally loosened, surely leaving bruises that would ripen over the next few days. The thought of going back to Kansas bearing Cas’ mark was shockingly alluring, forced a low groan from Dean that deepened as Cas trailed his fingertips down Dean’s chest, flicked over his nipple, traced the line of his abs and finally settled on his lace-clad erection. “Aw, Christ.” Dean pressed his head back into the mattress, eyes squeezing shut, as Cas rubbed Dean through the lace, used the delicate fabric to tease at his trapped, hard cock. “Cas, man, that feels amazing but you gotta stop, I’m gonna...gonna...” Cas squeezed on the tender head of Dean’s cock, forced thin liquid to bead out and dribble onto Dean’s chest, forced pleasure like fucking fireworks to burst behind Dean’s eyes, and he trailed off with a groan. Cas’ laugh resembled, more than anything, a ridiculous giggle, incongruous in his gravelly voice, and he slid down Dean’s body, freeing his cock from Dean’s ass, as he flicked a nail over Dean’s slit.

“You’re better than that, Dean.” Hot lips kissed Dean’s belly, sucked up the growing pool of pre-come that Cas was forcing from Dean’s aching cock. “You won’t come yet.” Those sinful lips replaced Cas’ fingers, sucked at the sensitive tip, and Dean groaned brokenly and tangled his hands in Cas’ hair, trapped between the desire to pull Cas away and the need to encourage Cas to draw more of Dean’s length into the sultry heat of Cas’ mouth. “I have a promise to keep.” Abruptly, Cas was gone. Dean whimpered at the loss, his hands falling limply to his stomach as Cas’ heat and presence moved away, the bed shaking as Cas shifted away. With effort, Dean opened his eyes to see Cas tugging off his condom, tying it closed and tossing it carelessly aside. His panties had disappeared at some point, too; Dean spotted them on the floor, black nearly invisible against the dark carpeting. Grabbing his pants, Cas dug in his pockets again, bursting out an adorable triumphant laugh as he withdrew a second condom. Gazing down at Dean with twinkling eyes, Cas returned, sucked another kiss over Dean’s cock, used his teeth to tug the lace out of the way and free Dean’s shaft. The elastic snapped as Cas let the panties go again and the over-strained fabric, never very stretchy, dug painfully into Dean’s crack, the band taut over his balls. For an instant, the pain threatened to distract Dean from his arousal, but then Cas was licking up his cock, sucking on him, tearing the condom open, rolling it sensually down Dean’s length as Dean panted and restrained himself, barely, from scrambling at Cas’ hair and begging for more of Cas’ mouth.

Cas’ ass was going to feel _so_ much better.

“You...” Dean took a deep breath and thrust at air. Cas chuckled. “You need some lube? I dropped the tube somewhere...gotta be on the bed...”

Cas crawled up Dean’s body, straddled his hips, locked eyes with Dean then tauntingly, slowly, reached back and demonstrated precisely how little he needed more lube, sliding a finger in and out of himself effortlessly, still ready to go though it had been hours since he’d removed his plug. Dean’s heart started to race, his breath coming in pants, as Cas lined himself up over Dean, took a hold of Dean’s cock, lowered himself slowly. There was a moment’s resistance and then Cas was spreading around him, wet and loose enough that Dean slid right in, tight enough to feel fucking _glorious_. The world blinked black, followed by a flash of brilliant white and a vision of Cas’ sweat-sleek body, head thrown back, thigh muscles bulging with Cas’ strength as he steadily enveloped Dean in heat. Settling his hands loosely on Cas’ hips, Dean let his eyes close and allowed the perfect pleasure to swallow him whole.

“Oh, yeah,” whispered Cas. “That’s just right, Dean – fill me up _just_ right.”

“Fuck is it sweet when you talk dirty.”

Cas rolled his hips, massaged Dean’s cock with pressure and friction and the tight clench of Cas’ ass and Dean was _lost_. “Glad you like it,” Cas’ voice came from the darkness and pleasure stuffing Dean’s head so full he couldn’t think straight. His hands tightened on Cas’ hips, steering him, his hips thrust from the bed to fill Cas even as Cas rose up, Dean thrust as he pulled Cas back down. Cas groaned, his limp cock slapped wetly as it struck Dean’s chest, and Dean drove in again harder, harder, unable to think of anything beyond how much he needed to fuck Cas until Dean filled the fucking condom.

“You keep that up, I’m gonna get hard again,” Cas kept up a steady stream of talk interrupted by his panting breaths. His inflection rose and fell in time to Dean’s increasingly quick thrusts. “Something tells me you’re not gonna last that long, though – oh, fuck, Dean, that feels good, you are _so fucking good_. I don’t know which is better: filling that tight, gorgeous ass of yours, or feeling you move inside of me. I can’t wait to taste you, can’t wait to feel your mouth around me, can’t wait to hitch your skirts up, bend you over and fuck you until you scream, can’t wait to buy you the prettiest damn panties I can find and then tease your ass and cock until they’re dripping with lube and saliva and both of our come mixed together.” Cas’ low rumbling voice, Cas’ promises, fired Dean’s imagination, the desperate way their bodies came together fired his blood, and it was too much, _wonderfully_ too much.

“Cas,” he groaned.

“I promise, Dean, _fuck_ , just like I say, over and over, as much as you want.”

“ _Fuck_ , Cas, this is...it’s never felt like...”

“I know, I know, don’t stop...so beautiful, Dean, you are so beautiful right now, so beautiful _always..._ wanna feel you come, wanna feel _everything_...”

With a cry, Dean obliged him, holding Cas’ hips still as he thrust up again, again, again, spurted hard into the rubber. His hips fell heavily down to the bed, drawing him free from Cas’ hole as Cas trembled and hovered over him. Dean whimpered at the sudden loss of heat and pressure, forced his eyes open in time to see Cas leaning towards him a moment before Cas’ lips met his gently. Tender kisses helped Dean come down from the high, Cas reached between them to remove Dean’s condom and throw it in the vague direction of the garbage. Dean couldn’t bring himself to care if they made a mess. He had nowhere to be until evening; the after-shocks were buzzing through him delightfully; and as his arousal drained, fatigue washed in. Without him being quite sure that either of them had moved, in minutes they were closely embraced once more, the blanket snug around them, the sweat drying on their skin, the come drying on their cocks.

“That was fantastic,” Dean breathed. Mumbling agreement, Cas mouthed another kiss against his neck. It was the last sensation Dean was aware of before darkness pulled him under and he fell asleep.

Usually, when Dean woke up alone, it was normal, expected. Usually, when he woke up alone after what he thought was a great night, he felt a sick twisting in his stomach, a pall of depression over his thoughts. Usually, when he woke up alone after he’d gone to sleep cuddled warm and close and had expected to awaken the same way, he wondered if it had all been a dream, if the affection he’d felt had been a delusion or a lust-driven hallucination. Usually, when he woke up alone on too large a bed, naked with his body stinking of sex, he felt cripplingly lonely. Heck, he usually felt that way even if the person he’d spent the night with was still there.

When Dean woke up alone in his bed at the Hyatt to bright sunlight streaming through the window, he still felt wanted, still felt calm, still felt content. There wasn’t the least doubt in Dean’s mind that Castiel cared for him. It was crazy, it _must_ be crazy, they barely knew each other, but he was absolutely sure.

Reality vindicated Dean’s instinct; he rolled onto his belly, blinked against bright light, and found Cas sitting in the office chair wearing the thick white terry cloth bathrobe from the hotel closet. Cas flicked a finger over his phone screen, looked up and realized Dean was watching him. Every feature on Cas’ face shifted, mouth spreading into a smile, skin at the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“Good morning, Dean,” said Cas, his voice soft and rumbling. “Or, rather, afternoon – it’s 2. I hope you didn’t have anything important scheduled for this morning?”

“No, I’m good,” Dean shook his head. Cas was backlit, his features cast in shadow by the light from the window, but that couldn’t obscure the gentleness of his expression or the sexiness of his stubble. He skimmed a finger over the screen, hit a button and set the phone aside. “Whatcha workin’ on?”

“Buying plane tickets to Kansas City for next weekend; have bought, actually, I just confirmed them,” Cas said. Dean started. “I should have checked with you first, I’m sorry. That was presumptuous of me. Do you mind if I come to visit you? If it bothers you can I always spend the weekend sightseeing, there must be...something else...to do in Kansas City. Is that okay, Dean?”

“Absolutely not,” snapped Dean. Cas wilted into his chair and Dean thought his heart would fucking _melt_. _Is it possible to fall in love in 24 hours? No, it’s really not. God, I’m too old to believe in this ‘first sight’ shit. It’s just massive amounts of lust, really fucking good sex, and the early budding of a friendship. But it_ could _be the start of something fantastic, and I need to know. He’s too fucking adorable_. “I categorically forbid you from _doing_ anything, or anyone, else in Kansas City. Or doing anyone anywhere else, for that matter. Is _that_ okay, Cas?”

As quickly as he deflated, Cas straightened again and broke into a wide grin. “Isn’t it a little early in this relationship for us to be exclusive?”

“I don’t think it is.”

“I’m so glad to hear that, Dean. I don’t think it’s too early either.”

* * *

“Dean, I’ve been thinking a lot about our relationship the last few weeks.”

_With anyone else, I’d be freaking out right now_.

“Honestly? I have been too, Cas.”

_But I know if it were something bad, Cas would have told me._

“What have you been thinking about?”

_He wouldn’t just spring that kind of thing on me._

“I’ve been considering what would be involved in moving to New York.”

_Every time there’s been an issue, he’s brought it up immediately, even if it meant calling at weird times, even if it meant we were on the phone for hours to work it out._

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. You have a great life here, Dean. I’ve never seen a group of people more accepting than your colleagues at the fire station, your brother and his family are here, and your drag family is great. Even though I’ve only known them all six months, I’m closer with your friends here than I am with anyone I’ve met in the ten years in New York City.”

 _It’s been the same when something has bothered me – sure it hasn’t always been easy to tell him, but whenever I have, he’s listened, he’s considered my point of view, and we’ve come out the other side stronger as a couple_.

“So...?”

 _I’d give anything to wake up next to him every morning, not to have to keep traveling back and forth like this_.

“Provided it’s alright with you, I’d like to move here.”

_God, Cas, how are you so damn perfect?_

“That would be... _fuck_ , that’d be _fantastic_ , Cas. I’d love that.”

_I love you so damn much._

“Phew. That’s, um, that’s a relief. I didn’t really think you’d say no, but...it’s a relief.”

_Breathe, Dean._

“There’s something else that’s been on my mind.”

_I can’t wait to kiss that frown off your face, can’t wait to get my hands on you, can’t wait to feel your hands on me, can’t wait to thrust inside you as I whisper over and over again how much I adore you, can’t wait to wake up with you already in me and moaning in my ear, can’t wait to have you be the first person I see every morning._

“Is everything okay?”

 _I hope you want that too_.

“Yeah – yeah, everything is great, I didn’t mean to make you nervous, just, _I’m_ nervous, and...Cas...Castiel Novak...will you marry me?”

“ _Dean_...”

“Um...is that a yes?”

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes, yes, _yes_.”

* * *

“Yes! Oh, fuck,  _yes_ , Cas!”

Dean’s skirts were bunched around his waist, the layers of tulle and satin so thick over his back that he couldn’t feel the hard wood of the table beneath his back, so bunched over his corseted waist that he couldn’t see most of Cas’ body. Dean’s heels were at the ground, the soles of his feet pressed hard into the corner of the table, his knees raised, his legs spread wide. There was a wild look in Cas’ eyes as he stared down to the lacy white panties he’d revealed when he hitched Dean’s skirts – the same pattern of lace as Dean’s veil – and exposed the glittering white plug that the openwork pattern couldn’t hide. Cas spun the plug inside Dean’s body and friction tingled outward, instantly flaming his simmering arousal in to full-on erection.

“Can’t believe you wore a plug,” Cas said, experimentally pumping the plug in and out. Dean moaned and fisted his hands around the skirts to hold them as much out of the way as he could.

“It helped keep me calm,” Dean confessed, flexing and unflexing his hands to keep himself from rutting against the table to force Cas to thrust into him harder. Dean’s nerves had been on overdrive since he’d woken up that morning and opened his eyes to see the garment bag containing his wedding dress hanging from the closet door across his hotel room.

“Calm,” Cas breathed. Twisting the plug, Cas pulled it out nearly all the way, pushed it back in slowly, and Dean’s head thumped back against the table as the plastic brushed his prostate. “Yeah, you seem... _calm_...”

“Well, we couldn’t have sex before the ceremony, my dress had to be a surprise,” explained Dean, gritting his teeth to keep from begging. “Now that we’re _together_ I know better ways to calm down,” said Dean, wrapping his stockinged legs around Cas’ waist to pull him closer; garters held the shimmery silk in place, left his thighs bare. Dean would _never_ admit that he planned the undergarments for this outfit with this exact moment in mind. “We have ten minutes, Cas.”

“Oh, we’re not going to need anywhere near that long.” Cas’ hands left the plug as he slid the panties back into place. Dean’s puffy skirts hid whatever Cas was doing. The mystery and anticipation was driving Dean insane, but Dean loved what he _could_ see, Cas’ hair neatly combed for once, his cheeks smooth shaven, his eyes bright with desire as he raked his gaze from Dean’s face, to his corseted waist, to Dean’s lace-clad crotch. Cas’ suit fit him perfectly, showed off every perfect plain of his body, his tie exactly the same color as his eyes. Cas leaned forward, brought his lips to Dean’s, brought his cock to Dean’s hole. Confident fingers shifted the panties, pulled the plug free, instantly replaced dull, lifeless silicon with thick, hard, hot cock, thrust sharply into Dean’s body. They cried out simultaneously, bliss coursing through Dean.

God, he loved Cas, loved that Cas loved him, loved that Cas was happy to fuck Dean senseless while he was in full drag or in his fireman’s uniform, loved that Cas was happy to have Dean fuck _him_ senseless while Dean was in full drag or in his fireman’s uniform, loved that the ceremony was done and that they were officially husband and husband, loved that the stress was over, loved that Cas was about to screw the last worries from him, loved that after this they’d party with their friends and stuff their faces with cake and dance until they were ready to fall over, he’d get to watch his co-worker Garth continue making calf-eyes at Cas’ Maid of Honor – Gabby, of course. He loved that when the celebration was done, he and Cas would retreat to a honeymoon suite together and Cas would delight in peeling the clothes from Dean’s body one item at a time, that Dean would get to do the same to Cas, that they’d make love slow and sweet. Dean loved that when he woke up the next morning, Cas would be there.

Cas caught him in a passionate kiss and, despite their awkward positioning, thrust in slow and steady once, twice, then pounded into Dean’s body so hard that the table shifted minutely over the floor. “Fuck, you’re beautiful, Mrs. Novak.”

“Harder, Mr. Winchester, _please_.”

“Most beautiful _person_ I’ve ever seen, most _perfect_ , the most...I love you...I love you...I will _always_ love you...oh, _Dean_...”

Cas was right. It didn’t take them ten minutes. Normally, Dean would be disappointed that they’d finished in record time, but now it was fucking perfect and unbelievably fucking hot to feel Cas lose control so quickly, to lose his own self-control so quickly.

And to think, if Dean hadn’t done that fucking interview, they never would have met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and *done.* :) Hope y'all enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> Have ideas for Writing Prompt Wednesday? Want to get involved? Just want to get to be friends? You should consider following me on Tumblr - my username is [unforth-ninawaters](http://unforth-ninawaters.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Teaser: Next week's theme is *wing kink*. Yeah, I'm hella excited. ;)


End file.
